


Electric in Your Blood

by puppyblue



Series: Skin [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, The Outsider Made Them Do It, more like guilty/confused!sex, not-quite-hate!sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 19:39:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8460436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppyblue/pseuds/puppyblue
Summary: Power always has a price and the Mark is no different. But the Outsider speaks to few in any generation, and rarely do those Marked individuals ever interact. Most of them never learn of the possible consequences. Daud has learned. His gloves are there for a reason. Corvo Attano has not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love the dubious consent, something-made-them-do-it genre, but I've always considered it a close thing to noncon. Fine line. So:
> 
> Warning: characters having sex who do not particularly want to and have not consented.

Daud had known for months now that he and Corvo would have to face each other.

He had been planning the whole while – the two of them, two of the Outsider’s Marked, coming together in one final fight. He wasn’t quite as ready as he’d hoped – he was still sore from his run through Brigmore Manor, with a deeper wound across his back that cracked and bled if he twisted too far,

But it didn’t matter; he was used to working at a disadvantage. Besides, he’d expected Corvo to come in with the full force of the Watch and the throne behind him, not ragged and half-dead from poison. Sheer chance, it seemed, had levelled the playing field.

So, he’d gone on with the plan, set it all up – he’d taunted Corvo to draw his ire, left his weapons in the open instead of hiding them away, and set as few of his men on sentry duty as possible. If that wasn’t an invitation, he didn’t know what was, and with any luck Corvo would be too focused on him to harm his men. They’d suffered too much for his choices already.

With all of that in place, he was alert and ready – he heard the softest brush of a footfall behind him, felt the slightest of breezes across the back of his neck, and he wasn’t surprised. He also suspected what the outcome was going to be, but that didn't mean he planned on making it _too_ easy.

And so, as soon as he sensed the other man creeping up behind him, he whirled around, slamming his elbow into Corvo’s ribs and shoving the other man's reaching arm away from his neck. He had his sword out of his belt before he completed the turn and he transversed away so that he could assess the situation, focused calm falling over him as he went.

Thomas was missing; he suspected that the four sentries on the building outside were as well. He didn’t see any splatters of blood, though, and so it seemed slightly safer to hope that Corvo’s penchant for mercy even extended to his Whalers.

If it had, then Daud could only be thankful. The man certainly had the skill to kill every one of them if he’d wanted to.

Three more Whalers transversed into the room before Corvo could take more than a step – none of them had been on sentry duty that day, so they must have been watching of their own initiative, likely from the open roof above.

While he could distantly appreciate the sentiment, it was the opposite of what he wanted, and he drew them back immediately, “Stand down! This is my fight!”

He saw them hesitate for a split second, but he snarled at them and _pulled_ at the Bond, and they left, one after another. They’d probably try to find Rulfio or another lieutenant, whoever they thought would have the best chance at getting him out alive, but by the time they managed it, the fight would likely be over anyway.

But then he looked back at Corvo as the other man circled in closer and his eyes caught; and now he wasn’t thinking about his men, Corvo’s skills, or even his next move, not anymore. All his planning, all his tricks, and he had completely passed by one very crucial factor, even though he’d had Corvo right in front of him mere hours ago.

He had somehow entirely forgotten that Corvo _fucking_ Attano was _not wearing gloves._

Corvo lunged at him, sword lashing out, and Daud countered him instinctively, before sending Corvo back with a kick to the chest and retreating across the room. His heart was thrumming against his ribs now, urgency crawling up his throat as Corvo leapt after him.

He touched another of the Marked before – just once, decades ago.

He’d been young and newly Marked himself, still learning. He’d followed the hum of bones to a shrine, and hadn’t realized it was guarded until it was too late. She’d leapt at him before he could draw his sword, delicate fingers clawing at his neck, and –

His memory always blurred there, into a hazy twist of light and noise, sparking panic and all-consuming _need._ He remembered some small pieces – the scratch marks down his back, the salt of sweat and sex on his skin, and the spray of her blood against the walls when she tried to gut him, after.

But it was the blanks that were the worst for him – the parts where he had no idea what had happened, and would probably never know.

He’d investigated, of course, and sat through the Outsider’s scornful, condescending explanation of Void power and human biology, and then ignored the god’s shrines for months, infuriated. He’d also pulled on the first pair of gloves he’d seen the very next day and he was never without them now, even though his men’s lesser marks had, thankfully, not turned out to be a problem.

Perhaps he’d unconsciously assumed that Corvo was the same – that he kept an extra pair of gloves in his pocket as well, or would steal a pair off a sentry. Wearing gloves was simple sense, really, considering the Overseers.

But now here Corvo was, bold and bare-handed, newly come to his powers and unaware of the dangers. His bare left hand was spread wide, the Mark gleaming turquoise and gold as he stepped warily to the side, circling.

Daud’s stomach dropped at the sight, a clenching in his gut that was partly quiet panic and partly something _else_ , something that prickled white-hot in his veins.

Daud wouldn’t have called his own efforts before _half-hearted,_ but…well, actually, perhaps that was all he could have called them: the necessary, expected resistance as his story came to a close. Now though, he didn’t hold back. He couldn’t afford to, for both of their sakes.

For a few moments, he thought he could do it. Corvo was struggling, if only subtly – there was the poison in his system, exhaustion under his eyes, and his damp coat spoke of his dangerous journey from the holding cells to the base. He was thin, too thin, and clearly near the end of his rope.

If Daud could just catch him off guard and knock him out again…

But then Corvo vanished and reappeared in close behind him, too close, just one half-step ahead in Daud’s distraction. A bare hand closed on the skin of his neck and shoulder as he tried to turn, pressed in for one heartbeat, two…

…and everything _shifted_.

For one short, oddly familiar moment, it felt like drowning – overwhelming and yet somehow numb, each second slipping by and dragging slow like honey. He could feel his left hand burning, but it was distant, the sensations surrounding him too much to process as his mind struggled to catch up.

He heard the clatter of steel hitting the floor…felt each agonizingly slow beat of his heart against his ribs…heard the drag and rasp of air as Corvo pulled in a stunned, gasping breath…

Daud breathed with him, and the wave crashed down.

He almost didn’t feel himself stumble, at first – he was burning, _burning_ , slow and scorching in his blood and his bones, curling sweet and warm in his gut. His clothes were too confining, scratchy and harsh against his skin.

But Corvo’s hand was a firebrand against his shoulder. Daud’s skin was alight, burning up with the rest of him, and each point of contact sent sparks down his spine. Daud _arched_ , pressing into that glorious sensation, choking in breaths as the world wavered around him.

The feeling vanished for a moment, but as Daud spun to chase it, a wordless protest in his throat, Corvo pressed in again. He’d torn off his mask, revealing ragged hair and too-large pupils, and he grasped at Daud’s wrists, his shoulders and waist, his hands reaching for skin and his lips a bloom of warmth against Daud’s jaw.

It was too much, overwhelming, and it was _perfect_. He needed, he _needed_ to –

Daud pulled him in flush by the front of his coat, desperate for more, for that bright-shock flare of touch and heat. Corvo’s belt and fastened coat came off easily enough, but Daud’s foray beneath his shirt was thwarted by his own gloves. He rumbled in wordless frustration and tore at them, trying to pull them off.

Corvo, affected by no such restrictions, had Daud’s bandolier over his head in short order and started attacking his coat. He kept pressing back in as he did so, opening his mouth to drag soft, wet lips down Daud’s jawline. He shuddered, dropping his gloves to the ground and trying to twist out of his coat as Corvo shoved at the cloth over his shoulders.

And that was when he stumbled – clumsy under Corvo’s pushes, too intoxicated to feel his knees buckling. He tripped backwards and fell against his desk, sliding down the side of it to sit on the ground.

The unforgiving wood jarred harshly against the edge of his wound, but Corvo came down nearly on top of him before he could truly register the pain. He wasted no time clambering onto Daud’s lap, his hands roaming up beneath his shirt and his heated mouth pressing against the frantic pulse in Daud’s throat.

Daud shrugged the rest of the way out of his coat and pulled Corvo’s shirt open, heedless of the buttons, so that he could slide his hands along his bare hips and taste the heated sweat at his collarbone.

His left hand gleamed. He ignored it, too distracted to care.

His cock throbbed as Corvo snuggled firmly down onto him and he rolled his hips helplessly; at the movement, Corvo’s lips vibrated against his skin in a nearly sub-vocal whine, and he pressed down against Daud in a fitful, unsteady slide. Even with too many clothes in the way, Daud shuddered with pleasure and pulled him in closer by his hips.

They started to grind against each other, a wild and clumsy rut, and Daud panted into the river-water smell of Corvo’s hair, his skin quivering tight at each spark of sensation. Every inch of Corvo’s sides under his hands, sweat-slick and scarred and deliciously warm, made his fingers tingle and his jaw clench, and the curl in Daud’s gut twisted up hotter and tighter with each thrust.

But all the movement shifted Daud’s back against the desk repeatedly, scraping across the grain as he arched. He almost hadn’t noticed the first spark of pain as he fell, but as he bowed just wrong, pressing back into the sharp corner of the desk, the dull throb turned into blinding pain arching up his spine.

He hissed, twisting instinctively away from the wood at his back, but the other man was heavy across the tops of his thighs, and resisted Daud’s efforts to shift him with a tight grip on his shirt and a wordless complaint. The corner dug right back into him, pain almost whiting out his vision for a moment.

Daud sat frozen with his hands clenched in Corvo’s coat, pulling in breath after desperate breath, trying to make his warring mind work again as the other man nipped at his throat and squirmed insistently in his lap.

He could almost…

His back throbbed with every inhale and exhale and the pain was _unpleasant_ , a new, sharp fire that throbbed across his mind, out of sync with the rest of the blaze. He grasped onto that with all his might and forced it to disperse some of the fog, dragging himself tooth and nail back to sanity.

 _Bad_ , his mind supplied muzzily, _bad, no, whatareyoudoing?_

This was Corvo – this was _Corvo Attano_ pinning down his thighs and writhing in his arms, and he needed to stop this, right now.

_Right now, Daud._

His hands shook, every part of him throbbing and _burning_ with need, but he curled them into fists and pulled back, shifting so that there was nothing behind him and he could push away.

It didn’t help – Corvo only pressed closer, indecipherable noises rising from his throat, and Daud felt worse with every inch he managed to get between them. The draw was a physical ache, the fire beneath his skin searing hotter and deeper, until he was shaking uncontrollably and every ragged breath he took felt a little bit like dying –

He stopped, grasping at the other man’s skin, and tucked his nose into Corvo’s neck, inhaling wheezing breaths and shuddering. He couldn’t. He just…he _couldn’t_.

Corvo was still rolling his hips and pulling at the front of his shirt, another movement that jolted the now-oversensitive wound on his back, dragging him back out of the growing fog pulling at his thoughts. He groaned to himself, muddled and furious, but nearly sick with _want_ …

But he couldn’t stop now – wouldn’t stop, perhaps – and so he gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on Corvo’s open shirt, and laid back, pulling the other man down with him.

Corvo took the hint immediately and surged onto him, pressing him back against the uncomfortable floor. The man’s legs slid in between his thighs, pressing them further apart as rough, too-warm hands slipped back under his shirt, hiking it up his chest.

A thumbnail caught along edge of his nipple and Daud stifled a moan, turned it into a snarl at the pure wave of _need_ that surged low in his gut, trying to pull him back under. He wasn’t giving in entirely just yet, though – not when Corvo’s eyes were still so blank, consumed by his pupils and the never-ending heat.

Daud wondered, distantly, if _he’d_ looked like that, the first time around, if he'd been that utterly gone. Anger sparked, dull, but still present under the beat of his pulse – even if he would have despised the act, he'd have preferred awareness over such a loss of control.

Because even now, trying to remember was like reaching into the Void, leaving him scrabbling in the darkness until it threatened to swallow him whole.

He tightened his grip on Corvo’s sides to ground himself back. Maybe the other man would prefer to that emptiness to remembering, but Daud couldn’t be sure. And if he couldn’t stop this from happening, then he would at least try to make it as bearable as possible for the both of them.

He cinched his legs tight around Corvo’s middle, locking the other man against him. This didn’t stop him from grinding down, and Daud’s hips stuttered along with his resolve. He arched his abused back into the wood floor, gritting his teeth and pushing past the longing.

Then he tucked his face next to Corvo’s neck and bit down on his shoulder, hard.

Corvo twitched and moaned out a low, muddled noise, his shoulder jolting as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to press in closer or jerk away. Daud ground his teeth in as deeply as he could, until metal flooded his tongue, and finally the other man hissed, pulling against Daud’s grip.

Daud released his shoulder, but dug one thumbnail harshly into the livid bite mark. Then he gripped Corvo’s hair and pressed their foreheads together, too firmly to be comfortable. His voice scraped raw in his throat. “ _Breathe_ , Corvo. Breathe.”

For the first time, he saw Corvo’s eyes flicker as he blinked once, twice.

They were still for a moment, pressed together, inhaling each other’s air as they panted. Corvo’s hands clenched and unclenched where they were now braced on either side of Daud’s head. Daud pressed unforgiving nails harder into the bloody part of his shoulder, waiting as he flinched, waiting as flickers of thought and emotion chased themselves over his face until –

 _" –Daud."_ Corvo said, and his voice was a question and an accusation and a _demand_ all at once.

"I can't stop it." Daud ground out, the effort of holding still wearing on him, his tongue twisted and useless in his mouth. “I don’t…I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sure which transgression he was trying to apologize for. Perhaps all of them.

Corvo shuddered above him – maybe at the sound of his voice, or maybe he was simply overwhelmed. His muscles were shifting under Daud’s fingers, as though he was trying to draw back and hitting the same resistance Daud had.

Daud _ached_ – but he waited.

It was a few long, torturous seconds before Corvo finally moved again, shifting over him. Daud wasn’t expecting him to lean in further, but then it seemed almost natural, when they were already so close, to slide into a kiss.

Corvo’s lips were soft, so soft, when the rest of him was all muscle and scar and exaggerated bone. Daud huffed into it, taken aback by the softer, calmer warmth of it, as well as by the gesture itself. Corvo took advantage, dipping almost hesitantly into his mouth, and Daud tilted his head up, calling him in.

His blood started to burn in his veins again, the heat still waiting to swallow him whole as he fought to stay present. His back still ached, kept him in his own head, but the press of Corvo’s body was everywhere, sinking in on all sides.

And so, it seemed like such an effortless thing to grasp Corvo's hips and arch up, pressing them together in a long, shivery line.

Corvo’s whine stuck in his throat, but Daud could still taste it in the flick of his tongue and the hitch of his breath. He felt hands tugging at his belt and lifted his hips, letting Corvo tug the leather from around his waist even as he reached for the man’s own fastenings.

Calloused hands slipped back under his clothes, scraped along his ribs, his navel, his hips – slower now, more aware, but inexorable all the same. Daud pulled back from the kiss, trying desperately to breathe, but then Corvo wrapped a hand around him and –

Someone was cursing; it took Daud a few moments to realize that it was him, hissing out garbled words as he clutched at Corvo’s shoulders. Arousal thumped harsh and low in his gut, dragging and catching in waves as the other man’s hand slid easily along his cock, slippery as it was with pre-come.

The movement was slow, oddly gentle – curious, Daud thought, or perhaps uncertain. But he couldn’t take the time to think about it, not like this, not with Corvo’s own hardness pressing against his hip, his entire body taut and quivering between Daud’s thighs.

He forced his hands off of Corvo’s shoulders and went for his clothes, pulling the loosened fastenings fully open and shoving the material down the other man's hips. The noise Corvo made when Daud palmed up his length shivered across his skin like a physical thing and he pressed his mouth back to the mark on his shoulder, breathing in the sweat and _heat_.

It was closer to a choice this time: letting go, falling in. Daud tried not to consider it too closely.

Awareness seemed more stubborn now – perhaps because he'd regained it once, perhaps because his wound was still making its presence known – and so he knew distantly that he would probably be ashamed, later, of the memories he retained. In the moment, though, there were more fascinating things to focus on, such as the twist of fingers around his cock and the noises he was drawing from Corvo's throat with his own attentions.

The tables turned when Corvo released him, skimming damp fingers back up the ridge of his hipbone; Daud gasped out a protest at the loss that was little better than a garbled whimper. It died off when Corvo tugged at him, dislodging Daud’s hand and slotting their hips together. He hitched his legs back up the other man's sides without urging, pushing up against him in open encouragement, and they were back to their grinding, the rhythm they fell into heavy and slow as they pressed close together.

He could see why Corvo had preferred it to hands - he could move his whole body into the action, thrust up into the heated body above him with an animal's single-mindedness. He found the pleasure of it even more consuming now, with clothes out of the way, as sweat and other substances made each press of their hips and cocks a slick, exquisite slide.

It wasn’t long before he was panting again, squirming urgently against the friction and the floor beneath him as his skin began to tighten and tingle in warning. It had been a long time since he’d engaged in such things, but he still remembered the warning signs as he approached the edge.

And he was close – so _close_ – with Corvo pressing in all the right places. He just needed…just…

He surged under Corvo's hands, trying to roll him, to take over the pace. But despite the noticeable weight difference between them, Corvo barely moved – barely seemed to notice, even – the accidental leverage of his position keeping him steady.

He pushed Daud back with a careless hand on his chest and a well-placed shove of his hips. The added pressure along his length made Daud jerk and groan out a strangled noise, made him buck right back because he needed _more_. Corvo was moving faster now, though, and so he settled back down to the ground, letting the other man move as he liked.

And in the midst of his feverish thoughts, there was this: he was nearly naked, pinned down to the floorboards by the whipcord strength of a man who had every reason to want him dead. And somehow, the utter vulnerability of it only drove him higher.

There was a wave building up, gathering as the muscles of his thighs and chest clenched, surging with every spark of touch across skin that felt far too sensitive. One of Corvo’s hands crept up to his hair, grasped tight as the other man leaned in closer. The small pinpricks of almost-pain arced down his spine like lightening, shivering in his cock, and he curled his toes, drowning in it.

He dug his nails into Corvo’s sides in agonized frustration as the other man’s hips began to stutter erratically – he was down on his elbows now, panting in Daud's face as he thrust, and the proximity was too tempting. He set his mouth to the arch of Corvo’s throat, then his jaw and his shoulder and the joint of his neck, worrying at the trapped skin with his teeth and tongue. It left blood on his tongue, iron and salt, and he rumbled into the hollow of Corvo's jaw and nipped harder, seeking it.

Corvo’s flesh tightened and trembled between his teeth, vibrating with some unheard noise, and suddenly Daud could imagine doing this again, again and again, warmth and weight and breath across his lips and his teeth against Corvo’s pulse –

The surge hit him hard and ripped right through him, flinging him over the edge without mercy. He vaguely heard the cry that ripped out of his own throat, felt the spasms as every muscle seized tight, but the rush swallowed him down, burned every thought away into white pleasure as he came.

It was the harsh rasp of air in this throat that brought him back, dragged him back into consciousness while his blood was still pounding in his veins. He didn’t know if he was grateful.

He closed his eyes against the wavering in his vision, listening vaguely to the ringing in his ears as a new, warm wetness spilled against his hip and stomach. He felt Corvo’s weight crumple fully down onto him, but he couldn’t spare much concern for it as darkness lapped at the edges of his thoughts.

He breathed.

The world reasserted itself slowly, in fits and starts – his back _hurt_ , throbbing with pain that made him grit his teeth every time his heart beat. His head ached dully, cotton slowing his thoughts, and his chest felt constricted. This last was not from his damaged body, he realized as he blinked his eyes open, but from Corvo, still draped across his chest.

His left hand itched. He resisted the faint, irritable urge to cut the Mark off entirely.

There was a sick feeling curling in his stomach now, only compounded by the feather-light brush of hair and breath across his skin. He stared up at the patches of grey sky above him, keeping his gaze off of Corvo; after everything he'd done to the man, now there was this to add to the tally...?

But what could he have done differently? Looked a bit closer, he supposed, paid more attention, but he couldn’t guarantee that would have significantly changed the end result, not if Corvo had been bent on finding him.

Or maybe it would have. But he didn't feel awake enough to consider the problem properly. Just breathing took up too much of his attention at the moment. He stared at the ceiling and focused on just that for a while.

He didn’t know how long they laid there, but he blinked himself out of his stupor as Corvo stirred, the other man's long hair tickling his ribs.  
  
“Whazzit?” His voice was almost incomprehensively blurred, muffled by Daud’s chest and likely his own exhaustion, but underneath echoed the same blend of weary befuddlement and dismay that Daud was experiencing.

Daud breathed in, bracing himself for the explosion, and shoved half-heartedly at Corvo’s shoulder. “ _That_ is what happens when you don’t wear gloves. You _idiot_.”

His voice was shakier than he’d like, but it didn’t seem to matter. Corvo rolled off of him with a groan of near misery, landing on the floor with a heavy _thump_ that made Daud flinch in sympathy. The man _had_ just been poisoned, he remembered now, and wasn’t the picture of health beyond that. Likely, he ached even worse than Daud.

Corvo squinted at him, oddly disarming in his exhausted confusion. "Gloves."

And Daud _did not_ want to have this conversation, but...

"A little _gift_ from the Outsider." Daud gave in, appalled at himself and the entire situation. Corvo listened, bleary-eyed and seemingly too tired to be combative, as Daud outlined the bare bones of the matter in short, sharp sentences.

What followed was a moment of very strained silence, stretching long and heavy.

Daud glanced away, perfectly happy to never speak of it again, and eyed the door to his office, wondering if any of his men were going to come bursting into this mess. He found he did not want to look at Corvo too closely. Or maybe he _did_ want to look at Corvo, maybe that was the actual problem.

He didn’t know what he wanted. To sleep, to scream, to claw his own skin off and the Outsider’s as well, to press up to Corvo and find out how many times their Marks would react like this, if they ever stopped –

He clenched his fists tight and breathed, disgusted guilt bubbling hot in his chest.

Then Corvo shifted again, struggling up to sit, although he wavered alarmingly once he got there. Daud should move, he knew, and either flee or prepare himself for another fight. But what little energy he'd had left after Brigmore seemed to have fled entirely and Corvo didn't look like he'd be going anywhere quickly.

He pushed himself up as well, locking his elbows as his head swam, and then looked over at Corvo, whose face had just turned alarmingly pale. Their swords weren't far away, Daud saw, but lunging for them seemed like a singularly unappealing idea.

So he just rubbed at his face, exhaustion dulling everything down to a vaguely irritable wariness, and asked, "Don't suppose we can postpone our fight to the death until tomorrow?"

He hadn't really expected an answer - he was mostly goading again, trying to gauge Corvo’s state of mind, so that he could react appropriately.  Surprise sparked when the other man only huffed a short, harsh laugh, one that sounded as worn down as Daud felt.

"I wasn't –" Corvo started, and then he broke off to cough – deep, wracking coughs that tore from his throat and visibly shook his body. This would be a perfect opportunity to overpower the other man, Daud recognized, but he simply watched as Corvo caught his breath.

"I didn't come here to fight." Corvo finally said, his voice cracking and rasping painfully in Daud’s ears. It took him a moment to parse what Corvo had actually said, but when he did, he had to frown at the utter implausibility of the statement. Corvo seemed to pick up on his doubt immediately.

"I hardly _wanted_ to be here," The man snapped at him, sharp and precise even in his illness – and there it was, the flare of anger and resentment Daud had been waiting for all these months, boiling to the surface, pushing back the previous shocked blankness. But just as quickly as it had come, the jagged emotion faded, leaving only a quiet, desperate determination that made Daud's skin prickle. "I just needed your key."

And...well, yes. Daud had planned it that way, had locked the gate himself. He'd hoped to draw Corvo straight to him, to distract him from the lingering sentries around the base by giving him a goal.

Now though, as Corvo looked at him – _him_ , the man who had torn his life to pieces – and deemed him less important, Daud had to wonder whether he’d actually distracted him from something far different.

But then the puzzle snapped together.

Corvo had been poisoned, in all likelihood by someone who held a great deal of his trust, if they'd gotten that close. Which meant –

"The girl's in danger again, isn't she?" It escaped him almost involuntarily, practically a groan of frustration, because he'd _just_ finished with Delilah. What was the point if the child was going to tumble headlong into every trouble that looked her way?

Then he realized that Corvo might have taken that utterance the wrong way and so he raised his head to make sure he wasn't about to be strangled. And Corvo _was_ staring at him, but his eyes were wide and wary, as though he'd caught the undertones lurking in that one sentence.

Whatever he saw in Daud's face seemed to confirm some suspicion, and he asked, low and soft and very deadly, "What happened?"

He'd never meant the Lord Protector to know – that hadn't been the point, not at all – but under the unwavering attention of Corvo's dark eyes, he found himself drawing breath and relating the entire exhaustive tale, beginning with the Outsider's unexpected involvement.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected as a response – fury, disbelief, perhaps condemnation. Corvo’s jaw tightened at several points, his hands clenching, but he looked more horrified than anything, and the disbelief Daud was expecting never came.

He turned away when Daud finished, his expression oddly conflicted. He was silent except for his harsh breathing and Daud, feeling far too old, laid his head back on against his desk and let him think.

“You two done in there?” Rulfio’s voice broke the tense silence like a gunshot. Corvo flinched, reaching for a weapon he no longer had. Daud just sighed, glaring with one eye at the door to the outside sentry posts, where Rulfio had poked his head in. “You know, I almost thought you were making up that story about the Mark, old man. But judging by the eyeful I got earlier, you definitely weren’t.”

“This has happened to you before?” Corvo asked him incredulously as he considered the mess he’d have to clean up if he gutted one of his lieutenants. It would probably be worth it.

“He won’t tell us who it was.” Rulfio complained, apparently entirely unconcerned with the deadly intruder only inches away from his master. “The current pool has the best odds on old Granny Rags.”

Daud picked up a loose bone charm and chucked it at his head. Rulfio vanished, snickering, leaving Corvo blinking at the door in something like bemusement.

“Yes, they’re always like that.” Daud grumbled, and went about heaving himself to his feet. It wasn’t easy, especially since his muscles currently felt like so many jellied eels, but he made it up and leaned on his desk, his shirt sticking unpleasantly against his throbbing back.

He heard Corvo gathering himself up behind him and turned to watch the other man warily, but Corvo just started slowly and carefully putting himself to rights. The silence was a physical weight in the room as they wiped off and redressed, occasionally exchanging loose bone charms that had gotten mixed during their… encounter in tense silence.

When Corvo reached for the key hanging at his desk, Daud didn’t stop him, just waited for him to leave. He rolled his tongue against his teeth, watching warily as the other man made it halfway across the room.

And then Corvo stopped, turned, eyed him critically. The hair on Daud’s neck rose in foreboding. “How many men are under your command?”

Daud stiffened further. He didn’t want to draw his sword again, but he would if he had to. “Why does it matter?”

“I knocked out at least fifteen men on my way to you,” Corvo revealed. Daud managed to avoid sagging at the rush of relief, though it was a close thing. But then Corvo continued, unapologetically blunt, "So if I wished to hire you and your...Whalers, would you have enough men left for a proper assault?"

When Daud just gaped at him, he added, somewhere between belligerent and desperate, “I’ll pay you for it, whatever your usual price, but you’ll have to wait until Emily is back on the throne.”

Daud blinked, struggling to catch up. “You want to _what_?”

Corvo eyed him sidelong for a moment and then sighed.

“I could track down Emily on my own, but even one mistake could put her life in danger." Corvo explained, soft and completely unyielding. "And it will be days before I recover fully. Any advantage, even this one, I'll take."

"You're insane." Daud rasped, and he nearly believed it. "After _everything_ \- "

"I know how to put duty before my personal feelings," Corvo cut him off impatiently, though his look made several of those feelings rather clear. Then he tilted his head. "From your earlier confessions of _regret_ , I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance.”

Daud bristled a bit, more in indignation that he’d missed Corvo’s presence during that recording than anything else. Corvo simply gave him a steady stare and added, “And perhaps you saved Emily before, but you still owe _me_.”

Daud stared at him, at the burn scars across his jaw and the too-sharp bones, and couldn’t help agreeing silently. He tipped his head, thinking over the possible ramifications of such an alliance.

“Well?” Corvo asked after a moment. Daud traced the minute tremors of exhaustion in the other man’s shoulders and made up his mind.

“Half an hour, and we can leave with you.” That would give him enough time to patch himself up and summon a squad from the shoreline, as long as they’d actually _stayed_ there when he’d ordered them to hide.

Corvo thought about it for a quick second and then nodded, some barely hidden trace of relief in his eyes. He leaned against the nearest wall and pulled elixirs from his coat, sipping at them slowly.

It wasn’t how he’d planned for things to end, Daud mused as he scrambled for his crossbow and sword. He certainly wasn’t going to complain either, but as he pulled his gloves back on, a thought sparked. He transversed upstairs, snagged an extra pair of gloves out of his chest, and returned to throw them at Corvo’s head. The other man caught them with a flinch and a scowl.

“Keep them.” Daud very nearly ordered. “Unless you’re looking for a repeat performance.”

Corvo raised a brow, but pulled the gloves on, with a deliberate twist of his wrists that made something in Daud’s stomach turn almost guiltily. Or perhaps eagerly. Corvo’s eyes stayed fixed on him though, almost daring him to react, and Daud inhaled a shocked breath, stifled an inappropriate grin as he recognized the challenge.

It was a ridiculous feeling. Some of his men would doubtless balk at Corvo’s presence, Corvo himself had not said what would happen after their fragile alliance was over, and reminding the future empress of his existence was probably one of the worst things Daud could do. Despite it all, though, Daud’s determination was only rising, sharpening his vision as he started assembling quick, loose plans in his head.

Something in his blood was sparking to meet that challenge in Corvo’s eyes. For the first time in months, Daud felt _alive_.

**Author's Note:**

> //The kinkmeme prompt was: There's a peculiarity to the Outsider's mark: whenever two people who have the mark touch each other's skin they feel the overwhelming and irresistible need to get intimate. Since there are very few people with the gift to begin with and those who do don't really get close to the others this is something most of them aren't even aware of. It can also get extremely awkward if two enemies touch accidentally...  
> -Can be with any characters of your choice, although Corvo/Daud would be very interesting.  
> Bonus:  
> * Daud does know about this from experience and that's the real reason he's always wearing gloves.  
> * Daud on bottom//
> 
> This is a pairing that needs slow burn and careful handling, I says to myself.  
> PORN! Says my pervy animal brain.  
> But seriously, I actually have a list of porn I want to write for these two (which is why the more open ending), despite the fact that I have only written one thing with sex before this, and it's still sitting unclaimed on the kinkmeme out of embarrassment. 
> 
> So please, leave me any constructive criticism you have, especially on the sexytimes. What was good, what needs work? What made you wrinkle your nose and go WTF. I need to know, or you'll get a whole series of bad porn and no one wants that.
> 
> Title taken from Florence and the Machine's "Various Storms & Saints"


End file.
